


Strip Tease

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 01:05:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4284810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: root and shaw prompt : Root has to go undercover as a waitress at a gentlemen's club and so her outfit is really revealing and when she gets back from the mission to the subway, Harold needs her help with computers so she doesn't get to change right away. John and Shaw get back from their mission and first thing Shaw sees is Root bent over helping Harold and she freezes. John doesn't say anything and just smirks and goes to get some ammo. Root finally turns around and sees Shaw almost drooling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strip Tease

"What the  _Hell_ , Sweetheart?!" The bartender whines out, voice thick with the blood pouring from his broken nose. His arm is pinned against his back, face pressed to the wall, and he winces hard.

On the ground around him are two men. One holds at his knee caps, agonized groans only muffled by the rag in his mouth. The other lays still, looking up at the ceiling with his hands zip tied behind his back, still too far in shock to shout. There are a few smears of blood that appear on the tile floor, and a steady streak down the wall from the bartender's nose. His arm is pulled deeper back, and he stifles a groan.

"C'mon, get  _off_  me!" He shouts, although doesn't struggle, knowing his shoulder will pop with the slightest movement.

From behind him, Root Groves holds his wrist firm to his shoulder blade, other hand brandishing a gun. She looks around at the scene, then a devilish smile comes to her stunning face. Giving him a shove and releasing her grip, he topples to the ground.

"Happy,  _Sweetheart_?" She asks with snide undertones to her cheery voice.

* * *

 

Instantly, he cradles his injured arm, fire in his eyes. There is the noise of a door swinging open from behind, then a gasp. Root turns, eyes instantly falling on a small man with large eyes. Her number.

"What are you- what did you- how did- who are- wh-..." He trails off, mouth hanging open in stupefaction.

"It'll be better for the both of us if you keep this to yourself," Root tells him, crinkling her nose. He nods vigorously, glasses sliding down his nose, and starts to tremble.

"Be- behind you!" He squeaks out, shielding his face with his hands. Root spins on her heel, gun poised, just in time to see the bartender raise his own her way. She fires. He drops.

Root hears a loud thump from behind, and turns to see her number unconscious on the ground. With a humored shake of her head, she grabs one of his wrists, pulling him back to his office. She leaves him in the nearest corner, then walks over to his desk, leaning over and scribbling a single reminder down on his note pad.

_Note to self: Start giving employees their fair pay._

With that out of the way, she smooths down her dress, runs a hand through her hair, and sets out the door.

Almost at once, Root finds herself back in the throng of the low lit gentlemen's bar. "Hey, red dress, can ya bring this tray to table three on your way out?" Root turns to see a well-dressed man holding a metal tray out to her filled to the brim with alcohol and appetizers. His eyes are young and his smile apologetic. Root, flashing him a grin, takes the tray and walks towards the table.

At once, she sees a group of men, attention directed at the large stage, where woman dance about erratically. Root rolls her eyes before plastering on a cheery mask, setting the order down at the center of their circular table. The first man gives her a quick glance before doing a double take. A sickening grin slides up his face, and he looks her over with elevator eyes, then rolls his tongue across his teeth.

"Hey, baby, you on your way home?" he asks, causing the rest of the men to whip their heads her way. Upon seeing her, they all begin to smile, bumping each others' shoulders and raising their brows in silent communication. Root, pushing her hair behind one ear, can't fight off her disbelieving smile.

" _Yes_ ," she answers in a dumbed down manner, starting to walk past. The man stretches his arm across her waist, stopping her in her tracks, and slowly begins to bend his muscular arm in. Pinning her close. She can smell the bourbon on his breath, and he sweats whiskey. Root tries half heartedly to hold back her look of contempt and disgust, holding her breath as to not have to take in another whiff of him.

"How's about you come home with  _me_  instead?" A couple of the meatheads around chuckle at that, murmuring agreements all the while.

Root gives him a smile paired with eyes cold as ice and tilts her head to the side. She slips her hand down to his wrist, grabs it, and twists. His oily smile disintegrates with the crunching of bones, and a small chirrup of pain escapes him. Still, she pushes up on his wrist, twisting it up and in towards chest. The pain is written in his eyes, and he puffs out his cheeks, unable to breathe and ready to heave from the pain.

"No, thanks," she says, venom laced within her sweet tone, and she lets go. Past the clicking of her heels, she can hear his exclamations of pain and anger, and can't help the satisfied smile that takes hold on her lips.

Stepping out the front door, the night's cold air hits her with a bone shattering force. She can feel her skin turning to ice, and wishes she'd packed clothes before coming out to help the number.

 _What kind of work dress code is this anyway?_  Root thinks to herself, walking down the city street.  _I could see if I was on stage but..._  Looking down, Root takes in an attire not far off.

Her heels are silver sky scrapers, with straps that wrap around her ankles and end just below her calves. After that, there is only skin. Up and up until it seems like there will never be fabric and then further still. However, miles past finger tip length, a shimmering red fabric comes together to a form-fitting dress with red lace snaking up the sides. The lace flows to a small trim across the top, completing the strapless dress. As she walks, she can feel the cold metal of her guns against the bare part of her back, and the scratching of stick-n-stay Velcro pads that hold them there. Her fingernails are painted black, and she brings one of her manicured thumbs to her cherry red lips, checking to make sure her lipstick hasn't smeared any.

A slight breeze billows in, ruffling Root's hair and sending a shiver down her spine.  _Maybe I can swing by my apartment before I head to the station..._

Her phone rings, and- at seeing the caller ID- a smile comes to her face. Flipping her hair back over her shoulder, she brings the cell to her ear.

"Hi, Harry," she greets, picking up her pace.

"Hello, Miss. Groves."

"To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?" She asks humorously, keeping her eyes on two men in suits as they approach from the dark. They move like shadows; nothing more than silhouttes, even under the dull street lights.

"I wanted to know when you could be at the station? I need some help with a program, and I was hoping you could assist me?"

"Sure thing, Harold," Root replies, narrowing her eyes slightly as the duo cross the street, walking straight for her. "I'm on my way." Hanging up, she straights to her full height, now four inches taller than before. They come closer, only feet away, and Root can see their business attire and clean shaved faces. They have this professional outer layer that ensures them trustworthy; however, they have con man eyes and Cheshire Cat smiles.

"Can we help you with anything, Miss?" The man in the dark grey suit asks, less than five feet from her now. She can feel the goosebumps on her skin, and takes in his large blazer with interest. A sly smile comes to her face, and she stretches her arms, hand falling behind her, fingers snaking around the grip of her gun.

"As a matter of fact," Root says, a knowing play in her voice as she eyes his jacket. "There is  _one_  thing."

_____\ If Your Number's Up /______

Two figures wielding guns run down the deserted city street, headed towards the only car in sight. It's a black SUV, and if not for the full moon filling the sky, it would be missed entirely. From behind them, the sound of gunshots ricochet into the night air, and their yellow blasts of light at each twitch of the trigger ignite the air with fireworks and gun powder.

"I'll drive; you shoot," the man in the suit says, firing a few rounds over his shoulder as he streaks like a shadow through the night. The woman at his side nods, turns, and begins taking aim at their pursuers, all the while trying to avoid the bullets wailing her way. All in black, with a mask matching her partner's, she becomes one with the night, impossible to distinguish from the dark all around her.

From behind her, the sound of an engine roars to life; and she is bathed in the brightness of headlights from behind. She sidesteps not a second before the car tears over where she stood, and she hops into the passenger side without need of the vehicle to stop. The headlights die as she pulls her torso out of the window, using only the light of the moon and her instincts to fight back.

Their assailants whiz by in a blink; however, judging by the amount of bodies that fall to the ground behind them, she determines she didn't do half bad.

"You missed one," the man says, checking the rearview mirror as she slides back into her seat.

"Maybe I'd have gotten him if you weren't doing  _seventy_ , Reese," she fires back. They round the corner of the block, then remove the black ski masks from their faces. She shakes out her hair, and he gives a quick glance her way.

"I never knew you to be one for making up excuses, Shaw," he tosses out casually, although his eyes smile with humor. She gives a snort, rolling her eyes.

"Then,  _next_  time," she replies, opening the glove box, "I'll drive.  _You_  can shoot."

A silence falls between them, the only sound being the light music from the radio and the crinkling of paper.

"You think Root will be back from her assignment?" John asks, trying to make conversation. Usually, he would be fine in the silence, but with the adrenaline of their own mission still soaring through his veins, he wanted a way to expel some of it.

"I don't know," Shaw replies, voice distorted and thick. "Nor do I care," she adds last minute. Reese has a countering jest to the statement on the tip of his tongue, but holds it, a question pressing him more than the joke.

"What's up with your..." Something that smells distinctly of peppers, mayo, and deli meat hits him. "Are you  _eating_?"

He steals a glance her way, just to see her frozen, holding a hoagie half way to her mouth with a soda seated in her lap. She looks his way, sees him watching, and lowers it slightly.

"Yeah?"

"Can I have half?" He asks, and her eyes narrow.

"No."

"I didn't have any lunch," he tells, eyes boring holes into her. She keeps a her gaze steady for a few moments, then rolls her eyes, clucking her teeth.

" _Fine_ ," she says at last, then hands him half of the sandwich. He takes a bite just as he hears the hiss of a soda bottle being cracked open.

"I haven't drank anything either," he tacks on innocently. She gives him one of her signature sneers.

"Now you're just  _asking_  to get shot," she informs him with seriousness and a hint of hostility; but John can only laugh.

"Fair enough," he says to her, taking another bite of the sandwich and turning down another side street. They travel on a little longer without saying much, when a thought comes to Reese's mind.

"You're a good friend, Shaw." From his side, he hears the noise of soda spraying agaisnst the dash, and a short cough.

"Where the Hell did  _that_  come from?" Shaw asks, something like concern in her voice. She knows how out of character something like that is from the detective, and can only marvel at him with a wondrous curiosity. John, on the other hand, just shrugs.

"Dunno, just letting you know."

"If you want the soda that bad, have it," she tells him, and he rumbles with laughter once more.

"It's not about the soda," he chuckles out, and Shaw looks out the window, searching for anything in the night.

"Thanks," she tells him awkwardly, then digs into her sandwich, suddenly needing to remain occupied. John turns down a few more streets, then parks a few blocks from the subway station. Stepping out, they both tuck their masks into their pockets, nothing more than two friends on an aimless walk. As it looks.

"Did Lionel tell you about the new kid on the job?" John asks, kicking a stone into the street. When he looks over at Shaw, a sliver of a smile comes to his mouth at seeing he's made her laugh.

"Only seven times today," Shaw replies, a glint of humor in her eyes, then shakes her head. "What short stick did he draw to be stuck as a trainee with the two of  _you_ , anyway?" She asks, fighting back a snicker.

"I guess the head of our department decided we were responsible and trustworthy candidates," he answers, but a smirk appears on his on lips in the dark.

"So, it's punishment," Shaw concludes, and John nods.

"Yeah."

The light of their subway terminal glimmers before them as they find the tile evening out beneath their feet. The sound of a keyboard's clicking and a few silent whispers greet their ears as they approach, but neither think the slightest of it.

"Poor kid," Shaw says jokingly, stepping into the station. "He'll have a lot of-..."

______\ We'll Find You /______

Shaw stops mid-sentence, jaw suddenly forgetting its purpose, leaving it to hang loosely open. Her head juts forward, and her lungs take a vacation. Her feet are cemented to the spot, and her heart doesn't know whether to stop or race; therefore, taking up both. Her stomach flies and plummets all at once, and her brain's highway shuts down, leaving only one small lane open for any traffic to pass. She blinks hard a few times, but the sight before her remains. Only one thought completes its travel:

_Damn._

Noticing Shaw's sudden silence, John looks to his right, brow knitting curiously at once. He follows her gaze, sees, and understands. Bringing his eyes back to Shaw's wonderstruck form, a smirk comes to his lips and a laughter in his eyes. Without a word, he walks to the subway car for a seat and some ammunition. Shaw doesn't even notice him; her focus is tunneling, funneling to only one thing- one person.

_Just... Damn._

Across the room, directly in Shaw's gaze, is Root. She's leaning over beside Harold, elbows resting against the desk and hair draped across her face as she looks away from Shaw, towards the computer screen. Shaw's eyes travel from the death trap heels strapped to Root's feet, and up her legs, half of her screaming to stop, and the other half wearing ear muffs. Root's legs are crossed, one foot tapping the ground subconsciously, and she brings a hand to the bottom of her dress, tugging it down slightly. Even still, it barely covers the tops of her thighs. Shaw's eyes catch on the lace, and she can feel her heart stuttering as they see Root's skin just past it, all the way up her side. Shaw's throat feels tight, and her head becomes clouded, disabling any coherent thoughts to form.

From Root's side, Harold seems more or less unfazed by his friend's appearance, mind too focused on the computer to see anything except code. However, he must feel the eyes directed in their direction, for he looks up. Upon seeing Shaw, his eyebrows raise slightly, then a sigh leaves him and he returns his attention to the PC.

"I do believe you've caught someone's attention," he says to Root quietly, but she doesn't take her eyes from the program forming at her fingertips.

"Who?" She asks, only half listening.

"Your  _girlfriend_ ," he mutters with a flare for the obvious. "Who else?" Root stiffens at that, every muscle becoming tight and her breath catching as her cheeks pinken slightly.

Shaw can hear the words as they slowly wander into her head, and can feel a heated response forming just as sluggishly. _She's not my girlfriend, Harold,_  her mind puts together, but her mouth is still out of order, and she doubts her voice would have worked anyway.

Nonetheless, Root smacks his shoulder a little harder than playfully, then turns her head Shaw's way. Upon seeing her face, the chagrin in Root's cheeks melts away, and the annoyance in her eyes dissipates into a coy glow. A suggestive look takes hold of her mouth, and she bites her bottom lip, looking Shaw over, before smiling.

Root pushes herself away from the desk, placing a jacket she had over one arm on the surface, and walks forward to Shaw with a playful flicker behind her chocolate eyes. Seeing her face now, Shaw feels her throat constricting even further, making it impossible to breathe.

"Hey, Sweetie," Root greets, meandering forward until she is mere inches from Shaw. With the heels, she's taller than ever, and Shaw has to tilt her head up slightly to see her face. Root, noticing, starts to step back, but the thin bottom of her heal catches between two tiles, and she goes slightly off balance. She grabs Shaw's shoulders to steady herself, looking down at her heels with distaste. Shaw stands rigid like a statue, absorbed in Root's cherry lips and bright eyes. Once Root looks back to her, Shaw can feel her chest collapse, lungs resigning and heart running away. Root stands, slightly stooped forward, patiently waiting for Shaw to say anything in reply.

The realization hits her, and she fumbles, opening and closing her mouth once, pressing her lips together, then swallowing hard.

"You look... different than usual," Shaw says slowly. Her mind is a car driving uphill through sand, and it's all to do with Root.

"Only slightly," Root replies jokingly, and she looks Shaw over again once more. Her eyes seem to express the same thing Shaw feels, but Shaw can't quite place how that is possible. "You look good," Root continues, a playfully suggestive glimmer in her eyes. "As usual."

Where Shaw would usually feel a sneer come to her lips, there isn't one. Where there would be a fire ignited in Shaw's eyes, there isn't one. Where she would spit back a defensive retort, none come to her mind. She just stands there, taking Root in, everything from the new dress to the old smile to the new shoes to the old fragrance. It's all too intoxicating.

"Uh, Shaw?" Root says, eyes clouding with concern as she looks into Shaw's eyes. Her own narrow as she tries to sort out what could be going on behind the gears in Shaw's mind.

"You'll have to excuse her," John says, appearing at their side. He gives a brief, humored glance Shaw's way. "She's not used to you looking like this outside of her fantasies."

That does the trick. Shaw, ears turning fire engine red, is knocked clean out of her stupor, and her eyes come to slits John's way. If looks could kill, John would be nonexistent.

"Don't you have a kid's career to  _ruin_?" Shaw spits back hostilely, and he smirks triumphantly. He's got her riled, and they both know it.

He gives her a curt nod, then walks past them, saying a farewell to Harold before making his way out of the station.

Shaw can feel her ears burning, and clenches her teeth together furiously, watching him go with daggers in her eyes. Root keeps her doting eyes on Shaw, watching her anger with nothing shy of fondness.

Just when Root thinks Shaw might go after him, she decides to change the subject. "I think I'm gonna walk home; get changed."

Shaw peels her smoldering gaze away from John's disappearing form and back to Root. Then, she looks Root over; but not in the aroused way as before. This time, behind solid eyes and a solid countenance to match, there is a pinprick of concern surfacing in her mind.

She thinks about the walk back to Root's apartment. Did she think Root could handle it?  _Sure, Root can take care of herself just fine_. However, what brought Shaw's unease stemmed not from Root's ability, but of the people that could be walking the streets in the night. Her mind goes back to the gunmen, and to the even stranger citizens that scuttle from their hiding places to rule the night. She thinks of her and John's escape, and the sky.  _The freaks come out during the full moon_ , she says to herself with half humor, but pushes all joking thoughts aside. Shaw's eyes wander back to the man's jacket resting on the desk- the one Root placed down before walking over- and suppresses and angered shudder.  _It's obviously already happened once tonight_ , Shaw thinks to herself.  _No need for it to happen again._

"I might have some spares here," Shaw offers at last, pulling herself from thought. "If you don't want to walk all the way there, I mean." Root gives her a smile that sends a warmth spreading through her body.

"That sounds good," Root says to her, then- still having a hand on Shaw's shoulder- bends over to unlatch the strap of her heel. Shaw forces her eyes in a different direction, not wanting to be caught staring another time tonight, and her eyes find Harold's. At first, she thinks he might be watching Root, but soon finds that his eyes are, indeed, on Shaw herself. They are quizzical and curious, as if he is trying to decode her like one of his computer programs.

 _I'm not so quick a study_ , Shaw thinks to herself, and tries to project the thought through her eyes. It must come out angry, for Harold's eyes change a little, and a split second quirk comes to his lips. Shaw rolls her eyes just as Root comes to a stand once more, this time back to her normal height. For a moment, Shaw stands still, looking at Root. Then, realizing Root is waiting on her, slips free of her loose hold and begins a quick paced walk to the subway car.

Stepping in, she heads to one of the closer filing cabinets, grabbing a black backpack out of the bottom wrack. Out of the corner of her eye, Shaw can see Root swinging the heels back and forth in her hands carelessly.

"Better watch it," Shaw says, a joke in her voice as she stands. "You could kill someone with those things." Root smiles her way with a look in her eyes saying she was thinking the same thing, and Shaw gives a quick laugh in spite of herself. "Here," Shaw says, handing the bag off as she steps past. She's almost clear of the cart when Root's voice draws her back.

"Wait," she says, and Shaw turns back to her slowly, leaning on the doorframe in a nonchalant manner to mask the jumping of her nerves. Her entire body seems to hum, and her head still isn't back to full working capacity. Root turns her back to Shaw, pulling her hair over one shoulder before calling back. "Zipper."

Shaw can feel her heart rattle in its cage, and her nerves race fast enough to make her feel close to sick. Her movements all feel too twitchy- everything she does is electrified.

Stepping forward, Shaw stops just before Root's back, swipes a few strands Root missed out of the way, then forces calmness into her fingers as she fumbles for the zipper. It's stubborn against the teeth, and Shaw gives it a hard tug before it begins to move.

"How'd you get this on?" Shaw asks, the question escaping her before she has time to think it out. Think of how bad the question sounds. Wincing silently, Shaw hopes that Root knows what she means.

"One of the girls in the back gave me a hand," Root replies, and Shaw instantly feels herself on edge.

" _Oh_ ," she responds, a strain in her casualty. "She nice?"

"Yeah, she was friendly," Root responds, not thinking deeply into it. Shaw, on the other hand, reads far too extensively. She can feel something red boiling inside her.

" _How_  friendly?" She questions, and gives herself a sneer at the twinge of jealousy in her words. From where Root stands, an indulgent smile spreads across her face.

"Friendly enough to tell me  _all_  about how dedicated she is to her job... and her boyfriend." She says the last part almost smugly, casting her amused gaze over her shoulder to catch a peek at Shaw. Shaw meets her eyes, anger and annoyance written on her face.

Shaw feels the zipper stop, and looks back down. She sees the zipper finished with its course, teeth separated to expose Root's smooth back just beyond the fabric. Ears becoming hot, Shaw whips herself around, balling her hands into fists and stalking away. She comes to the car's door, and leans her back against the outside, staring straight ahead. A few minutes pass.

Something in Shaw wants to turn around. A curiosity paired with impatience. She wonders what could be taking Root so long, and is tempted to look over her shoulder to the window. However, another piece of her holds firm; stubborn to the core, leaving no room for compromise.

_Stare. Straight. Ahead._

Just when Shaw thinks she can't stand it any longer, there is a presence at her side. Looking over, she sees Root settling into a lean beside her, folding her arms one over the other. She has on Shaw's over-sized sweat jacket, and a pair of pants that don't seem too short. Her feet are still bare, save for a pair of socks, with her hair slightly disheveled, and Shaw can't help but think just how much she likes Root this way, as well. Shaw tilts her head inconspicuously forward a little to catch a better look at Root's face, and notices her red lipstick smudged slightly at the corner of her mouth.

"Root?"

"Hm?"

"You have, uh..." Shaw trails off when Root turns to face her. She tries to form the words, but nothing comes to mind. She thinks of how easy it would be to just reach over, to bring her thumb up and swipe it away... Her face grows hot, and an angered hardness takes hold of her eyes. "Nevermind," she mutters coldly, stuffing her hands in her pockets and heading for the subway's lone bench. Root, slightly confused, runs her fingers around the edges of her mouth, then smooths her hair down self consciously before heading back to her spot beside Harold.

Shaw, from her perch, has a clear view of Root, leaning back over the desk with intent and focused eyes.  _What the Hell's wrong with me?_ She asks herself, watching Root with a similar fascination as before. She thinks of John, how he saw how she reacted, and how he's sure to share the discovery with Lionel. _So, basically, months of torture._

Root looks up, sees her, and a smile forms automatically on her face, brightening the entire station.  _But maybe it's worth it,_  Shaw continues, keeping her features stoic but feeling the warmth of a grin in her eyes. As if reading her thoughts, Root shoots her a quick wink before returning- smile hopeless to contain- back to business.


End file.
